Bronze Gods (35 page)

“I’ve been thinking,” she said.

“That never ends well.”

“I’m serious. Remember where we got the lead to investigate Gregory Toombs?”

Mikani looked puzzled, then the answer came to him. “Mr. Gideon . . . Lorne came down to HQ with a tip, as I recall.”

“Doesn’t that seem odd? Why would he report his own accomplice?”

He thought for a few seconds. “Possibly the city was getting too hot to maneuver, and he thought offering us a suspect to chase would grant the time he needed to finish his grisly work.”

Ritsuko nodded. “As good a guess as any. I suppose we’ll never know.”

Mikani spent the night in her room—and he was there every time she woke up. Once, from a bad dream, another just because she’d been sleeping so much that her mind thought it was beyond time to get moving again. In the small hours, they talked. He tried to make her laugh. And with only periodic absences for food or hygiene, he stayed until she convinced the doctors to release her, two days later.

Ritsuko was relieved to see the hospital doors close behind her. No matter how luxurious—and it was good care with Olrik paying for a private room—it still smelled of antiseptic and the masked odor of illness. Mikani opened the car door for her and helped her in; if she wasn’t still a little shaky, she’d have grumbled.

It wasn’t until he turned the cruiser toward the Mountain District that she realized he didn’t have her new address. “No. I’m closer to Central now, just outside of Temple.”

He angled a look her way. “Since when?”

“I told you I was moving.” She remembered that night well; Mikani had teased her two or three times about them setting up housekeeping in his cottage. Usually she enjoyed his sense of humor, but that memory carried a bit of a sting, as she sometimes imagined coming home to him for real.

“I thought you were joking,” he said.

“No, turn here.”

He followed her directions, then parked at the curb before the rooming house where she’d rented a suite. It was warmer than the flat she’d left behind, with a building full of people with whom she shared a bath and regular meals. Though her hours meant she didn’t always get to eat with them, she enjoyed having the option when her schedule allowed. People fussed as Mikani escorted her up the stairs, and the woman who owned the house wouldn’t go away until her partner leveled a dark look on her.

“Don’t frighten my neighbors,” she chided. “I have to live here.”

“It’s . . . not what I’d have pictured for you.”

“I like it. And it’s closer to work.” She’d managed to move that last morning before everything exploded, the day he commented she had arrived late.

“Cozy.” He wandered through her flat, touching knickknacks here and there, probably because she’d never had any before.

It’s . . . nice, having him here. I shouldn’t get used to it.

“Thank you. I’d offer tea, but I’ve been ordered to rest.”

“I’ll make it. I know my way around a kitchen better than you do anyway.” He went into the kitchen, and the cheerful sound of clinking china reached her ears.

Ritsuko laughed, as it seemed unlikely, but after visiting his place, she knew it was true. “So how long do we have before we resume the madness?”

“Gunwood’s giving us a full week, provided the rumor of an underground invasion continues to prove untrue.”

“You read that, too?”

“It’s the most entertaining of the theories.” A few moments later, he emerged with a tray, tea and sandwiches.

“But I haven’t been to the market in . . .” She trailed off, unable to remember.

“Seems your landlady likes you . . . and stocked your larder.”

“I’ll have to thank her.” Ritsuko bit into a cheese-and-cucumber sandwich and decided it was the best thing she’d ever tasted.

Across the sitting room, Mikani settled into a new armchair.
I bought that because I imagined he’d like it.
The strange feeling persisted, growing into an ache. She wished he reached for her now as easily as he’d done when she was in the hospital.

But no. Things must return to normal. And I’m the work woman.

But she remembered, then, the other errand from that morning before. “Hold on. I have something for you.” Mikani protested, but she was strong enough to go into the bedroom and bring back a black box. “Open it.”

“Ritsuko . . . ?” But he did as she asked, and his expression was appropriately delighted when he drew out a smart bowler hat, a fair replacement for the one he’d lost. “I can’t believe you remembered.”

“You’re not the same without it,” she said, easing into her chair.

“Thank you.” Then he went on, “I’m glad this business is over, and we can put it behind us,” he said, fixing her a cuppa.

Oh, Mikani. I do so wish that were true.
The moment was so peaceful, she hated to bring up all the inconsistencies she’d considered in the hospital. But in time, she was sure they would occur to him as well—and he wouldn’t thank her for being reticent.
Not where the job’s concerned anyway. He gave me such a stern lecture over Toombs’s model, I can’t withhold this.

“Not just yet, I’m afraid,” she said.

Mikani raised a brow. “Why not?”

“It takes someone with a lot of resources to operate in Dorstaad with CID and House blockades in place.
How
did Lorne manage to move his machine after the Summer Clan shut the city down? He had to bring it in from that farm, outside the city limits.” She shook her head at the impossibility of it. “There’s only one way he managed.”

“Which means one of the Houses. You’re saying Nuall’s brother had a patron.”

“I’ve been over it and over it in my head. Nothing else makes sense.”

Her partner jumped from his chair and paced a tight little circuit to the window and back. “Why? What’s the point?”

“I talked with Theron Nuall one afternoon while you were gone. His brother was stealing Ferisher power by killing those girls, trying to heal a wound. Lorne had more power once, I gather. I’m not clear on the details, but Lorne thought once he was whole again, he could call back the fey spirits who have faded and reshape the world.”

“So he was trying to open a doorway of some kind?”

“Perhaps. But I believe someone
wanted
him to make that happen, or he wouldn’t have gotten as far as he did.” Saying the words aloud sent a chill through her.

This makes it real.

Mikani’s blue gaze met hers, so very grave. “Someone powerful.”

“Yes. And that person is every bit as responsible for the murders.”

“Who stands to benefit?” he asked. “I doubt it’s one of the four principal Houses, as they like the world the way it is.”

She set down her sandwich, not hungry anymore. “Those are questions we’ll have to answer. The person responsible must know we won’t stop coming until we do. If I’m right, we’ll face strong opposition from the highest levels. Beyond the Council, though we might be able to count on some support from Mr. Olrik. If we pursue the matter, it may mean our careers. Are you with me on this?”

He took a step toward her, his expression enigmatic yet beautifully familiar. “Always, partner.”

About the Authors

A. A. Aguirre is the pseudonym for Ann and Andres Aguirre, a husband-wife writing team. She specializes in compelling characters; he excels at meticulous world-building. By day, she’s a
USA Today
bestselling novelist, and he is a pharmaceuticals tycoon.

Born in Mexico, Andres spent his early years traveling and getting in trouble everywhere else. Along the way, he got a degree from Pepperdine in economics and international business. Ann was born in the Midwest and has a degree in English literature from Ball State. She’s traveled less than Andres and gotten into less trouble, but scaling Machu Picchu should count for something, right? Now settled, if not fully domesticated, Andres lives with his love, Ann, their fantastic kids, and various pets.

Together, they form Megatron. Or not. Actually, they write books.